Burning Sun
by Eccentric Writer
Summary: Not all things reveal themselves in time, you can't do everything alone, pain is more than mind games. Sam decides to leave for his Uncle's house in order to 'figure things out'. If only he knew what he walked into...
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** All of these guys below belong to Hasbro. I just like playing with their fates and will return them when done.

**Your Author:** I can't believe I'm starting a multi-chapter fic. The bunnies were just that persistant. I hope everyone enjoys!

Winter had moved in swiftly and consumed everything it breathed across. No snow graced the ground, but the bitter cold was more than enough to send people running for the indoors. Students were returning home for the holidays to bask in the warmth of their families. Sam Witwicky was no different. He too had gone home to Tranquility, but lacked the cheer the time of season usually instilled within people. The immaculate lawn was still green even in this weather because of Ron Witwicky's attentiveness. The flowers his mother loved were curled and shriveled, hibernating until spring came and warmed the roots. The cold wind blew outside, tossing leaves and the occasional plastic bag around. It was eerily quiet as if everyone, and everything, knew that the young man needed silence. His fingertips, nose and cheeks were going numb, but he remained sitting on the back porch in deep thought. He should have gone inside to seek refuge from the cold, but he welcomed it open armed. It reminded him he was human.

Human. The word was so sweet on his tongue. Sam never imagined he'd have to remind himself that was his race of origin. He looked down at his hands, which were shaking slightly not from the cold. A decision weighed heavily on his mind and shoulders. He wished he could go into the garage and talk to Bumblebee about it just as he used to. His guardian was willing to listen to the young human rant about things that troubled him. Such as Mikeala or his parents. Unfortunately his problem lay within the realms that Bumblebee would find familiar. Realms that Sam himself began to fear. While it seemed like the logical thing to go to his guardian about this, he couldn't bring himself to. He knew what would be said. He had a fairly good idea of what would happen should NEST or the government find out. His body shuddered involuntarily. No. He wasn't going to even go there. That left him between a rock and a hard place.

He'd had a long discussion with his parents not long ago. One that left both quiet and staring at their dinner as if it were going to jump off their plates and do the tango. He flat out told them he couldn't go back to college. That nearly started an argument between himself and his father before he hastily explained himself. He'd spoken quietly as if fearful that Bumblebee would hear. Judy was sympathetic for her only son and Ron had appeared torn. Once he finished Judy suggested he go upstairs while she talked with Ron, instead he went to the back porch and hadn't heard from them since. He could tell his father was contemplating taking him to see a shrink or something equivalent. Not that Sam could really blame him. He sounded crazy even to his own ears. The only thing that would stop him from doing so was fear that Sam would end up like his great grandfather Archibald Witwicky.

The backdoor opened and out stepped his mother. She stood nearby and released a sigh. She was obviously frazzled and by the looks of it she'd also had a few drinks, presumably to calm her nerves. He looked up at her to acknowledge her presence before staring at his hands again. Like he couldn't believe they belonged to his body.

"Sam." Her voice broke the silence and gathered his complete attention. "Is this what you really want?" She sounded unsure, like when he was preparing to leave for college.

"Yeah," he nodded his head in confirmation.

"Your father is calling his brother. If he agrees, you can stay up there until you 'discover yourself'." Sam couldn't help but smile at her way of putting it.

"Thanks mom." She ran her hand over his hair, smoothing it out like she often did when he was younger.

"Now get inside, it's freezing out here." She wrapped her arms around herself to emphasize her point. Sam followed his mother inside, the warmth wrapping around him in near suffocation. Ron put down the phone with a heavy sigh and leaned against the counter as he turned to Sam. He took a moment to look him over. The son who had died in Egypt and somehow returned to the living. The same son who, when he was five, befriended Miles when no one else would. He'd grown up so much, but there was something in his eyes that was unsettling to Ron. He couldn't place it and doubted he'd ever be able to. As he stood there it was hard to believe he'd only been on the earth nineteen years. It wasn't long. Yet he'd been through so much within a few years time.

"I talked to him and Greg said it would be fine with him if you came to stay for a while." He sounded almost defeated. He wasn't able to go into detail, but as far as Greg knew Sam was having 'issues' he couldn't sort out at home. Greg liked his nephew and was quick to agree to the arrangement. "The only condition is that you work in his auto shop." Sam couldn't get away from mechanics it seemed, but he'd take it.

"Thanks dad." The older man merely shrugged and reached for his drink.

"He said you can head up tomorrow, if that's what you really want." It was decided then. He wouldn't tell Bumblebee where he was going, but he would tell him he was leaving and that he didn't want to be followed. That was a conversation he wasn't looking forward to.

-

It was late and dark. Crickets made their musical notes and tomcats roamed the streets, but activity within the neighborhood otherwise was limited to none. No humans should be active within the Witwicky house and yet Bumblebee's scanners picked up movement within the dwelling. Ron and Judy were unmoving in their room, fast asleep, which only left Sam. He maneuvered down the stairs and into the garage quietly closing the door behind him. He turned on the light and settled himself on the workbench. It was silent for a while as Sam picked out what he'd say, Bumblebee politely let him. He was obviously nervous about something, which didn't make sense. He'd never been nervous around him before. Finally his charge took a breath.

"I'm leaving 'Bee."

_'We are free and independent, we go everywhere _

_And we gotcha gotcha all the way'_

"No 'bee," Sam shook his head sadly. The camero sank down on his tires and made an inquisitive sound. "I'm going alone." At this Bumblebee transformed. The garage had been rebuilt a tad taller than it had been, but still Bumblebee had to kneel down. At least he could transform without damaging anything. He lowered his head and nudged Sam slightly with a finger. "Things are going on that _I_ have to sort out."

"Sam," Bumblebee started to argue. His vocal processor was still scratchy and he used it sparingly, but it was getting better. The look on Sam's face, however, prompted him to change tactics. "What is troubling you? You haven't said anything about there being a problem." Sam seemed to deflate, refusing to look directly at Bumblebee.

"As I said, I have to figure it out myself." It was clear that he didn't intend on telling Bumblebee anything. His guardian seemed to sigh and cupped his hand around Sam, trying to give him what comfort he could. He was obviously distressed about this. Sam leaned back against the large metal hand and closed his eyes.

"Can you not do that here?" He inquired. Sam shook his head. "I will accompany you wherever you go." He sounded soothing despite the static in his vocals. Sam felt a pang of guilt within his gut, but ignored it for the moment.

"I'm going alone." The mere thought worried Bumblebee more than he would admit. Things happened to Sam when he wasn't around and he wasn't going to be quick to let him go again. Not after the last time.

"It may not be safe for you Sam." Many of his comrades would rather hide this particular fact from the human, but it was truth. Sam was a target for the Decepticons, the recent events proved it. Sam groaned in frustration.

"That's just it! I need to get away from all of this." He waved his hands around. "I will have my phone with me," he spoke in a placating tone. "If you think a Decepticon is so much as thinking about flattening me, call and I will get back here or wherever." It was a last ditch effort on his part. He tried to keep the desperation out of his voice. Whether or not he succeeded, Bumblebee didn't indicate.

"This is utterly necessary?" Sam merely nodded his head. "I will come and check on you from time to time." There was no room for argument there. He was upset that Sam couldn't share these problems with him, but if his young charge could sort things out perhaps things would be better for him. Maybe he'd recharge better as well. Only Bumblebee knew the young human was suffering from sleep deprivation.

"Thanks 'Bee." Bumblebee then nudged Sam gently, ushering him towards the door.

"Sleep." He watched him stumble through the door before transforming once more into his alternate mode. He didn't like this entire situation, but Sam looked as if he were fraying at the seams. If it wasn't clear he needed it, Bumblebee would have held his ground against this decision. He would stay close to Sam, but out of sight in order to give him the space he needed. He was his guardian, he wasn't about to let him go off alone. Sam settled into bed and nothing so much as twitched the rest of the night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** All of these guys below belong to Hasbro. I just like playing with their fates and will return them when done. Except Gregory, he's mine. He stays with me.

**Your Author:** I know, nothing interesting is happening yet. Don't worry all the good stuff will come, patience is required. Finally we get to meet Gregory Witwicky, the youngest of the Witwicky brothers.

Sam floated between the conscious and unconscious world. He'd be perfectly content if he could remain in such a state for the remainder of his life. It was nice. Drifting without meaning, without worry or stress. Warmth was wrapped around him like a breathing cocoon. He didn't dare open his eyes for fear that this world would shatter in that instant.

When Mojo and Frankie decided to be faithful dogs and wake Sam up, to say he was disgruntled would be an understatement. He groaned and buried his head beneath his pillow to avoid the dog's tongues. He waved his hand at them, trying to fend them off rather unsuccessfully. He peaked at his alarm clock before rolling over onto his stomach and flat out ignoring them. After another minute or so Mojo had finally had enough with his master's laziness and trotted off. Bacon sizzled downstairs and he was hoping to get lucky. Frank followed suit, leaving Sam to the blissful peace. He tried to go back to sleep, but the dogs had shattered any hope of that. With a frustrated grunt Sam threw the covers from his body and pulled on some clothing.

A bag sat in the far corner, packed last night and awaiting transport. He hadn't been certain when he'd leave and so had merely packed it before falling into bed. He reached for his cell, which lay on the nightstand, and immediately pulled his hand back. Where once his alarm clock stood was now a charred machine that only slightly resembled what it used to be. He cursed and shoved his cell into his pocket. The alarm clock was thrown roughly into the trashcan and hid by wads of paper that had been crumpled up at the bottom. He briefly wondered if that was the fifth or sixth alarm clock he'd been through. No, that sixth one didn't count. It hadn't been his alarm clock; rather it had been Leo's. Needless to say, the man hadn't been happy when his alarm didn't go off and he woke late for class. He was even less pleased when he saw the state his clock was in.

Sam grabbed his bag and pillow then proceeded to head downstairs. The urge to cook had struck Judy, she stood at the stove turning over bacon as the dogs watched her every move hopefully. He deposited his belongings on the couch before heading into the kitchen.

-

Judy hugged him tightly before he managed to get a foot out the door and made him promise not to give his uncle too much trouble. Ron just stood to the side, as always, and bid his son goodbye without becoming the emotional mess Judy did. He shouldered his bag and looked back at his parents. When he left for college he left with a feeling of freedom, of breaking free and going out on his own, elation. A different feeling settled in the pit of his stomach now, one that made him hesitate only slightly before climbing into his father's old truck. It hadn't been used in a few years, but it would get him there. The engine rumbled lowly and he was gone.

Sam had not seen much of his uncle growing up. Once or twice at thanksgiving and Christmas, but he'd been young then so he didn't remember much. His father rarely spoke of his younger brother and urged a topic change when anyone tried. He doubted the man was a convict because Judy would have thrown a fit. It was possible that he was as crazy as Archibald, but he'd never been told anything to confirm such. He didn't really care to be honest. The man was willing to let Sam take refuge in his house, which was good enough for him. He couldn't see how working in his auto shop would be so bad so long as nothing 'weird' happened. He turned on the radio to break through the suffocating silence and drove on.

-

Gregory Witwicky lived near the mountains, away from the majority of the population and in a small town. By the looks of it, it was one of those 'everyone knows who you are so heaven help you if you get in trouble' type towns. It was an older town; obviously, many of the buildings were in dire need of repainting. Parked in dirt driveways were older car models, he saw one of similar make and model to the truck he drove. He passed a shop with a slanted sign. The bright red letters read '_Victory Auto Repair_'. Even if it wasn't the only auto shop in town, he'd still have guessed it to belong to his uncle.

He wound all around the town before finally finding his uncle's house. The yellow mailbox with the name Witwicky on the side confirmed it. It was small with a nice sized garage and no lawn. Rocks and dirt were the replacement with a particularly large boulder placed smack dab in the middle. Smaller rocks were put around it in a circle and thus repeated as they became smaller. If that hadn't been enough to gather his attention, the strange device perched atop the boulder did. It was a brass colored metal, twisting and turning about in an odd pattern with red splotches here and there. Apparently it was chained down to the boulder with many silver chains running through it and around the boulder. He couldn't tell what it was, but in the dwindling light he couldn't make out a cat much less this…art piece. Was it art? Or just twisted? Maybe it was supposed to scare pigeons.

Sam parked next to an old, pale blue nineteen sixty-four Ford Mustang. He slid out of the car and headed towards the door. The door had a stuffed Thanksgiving turkey holding a 'welcome' sign on the front. He knocked three firm times. He waited before trying the doorbell and knocking again. He looked back over his shoulder at the car, perhaps that wasn't his usual car. Maybe it didn't work. Once more he knocked. His shoulders slumped as he sighed, he might as well wait in the truck. Suddenly the garage door swung open and a voice called out.

"Hey, Samuel, I'm in here." He looked around as if expecting to find some other boy called Samuel before approaching the garage attentively. Gregory Witwicky was a tall and slender man with graying brown hair. His arms were covered in oil and grease and his once white shirt was spotted black. He was in the process of wiping what oil he could from his hands onto a towel. "God you've grown."

"Hey Uncle Greg," Sam raised a hand in greeting.

"I'd give you a hug, but…" he motioned to the mess he clearly was. "I could give you one anyway." He grinned.

"No, that's okay." Sam backed up a few steps as Gregory laughed.

"How was the trip up?"

"Uneventful." Sam shrugged.

"Have you eaten?"

"Yeah."

"Alright, you can put your things in the guest room. It's going to be the door right next to this one." He tapped the door that led out of the garage and into the house.

"Cool, uh, thanks Uncle Greg. I appreciate everything you're doing."

"It's no trouble Sam. It's not as if I don't have the room." He chuckled as his attention returned to his project, which happened to be an older model black corvette. Sam weaved through the throng of electrical tools, pans and what have you in order to get inside. He tossed his bag and pillow onto the green bed sheet before checking out the rest of the house. There were no feminine touches; Gregory wasn't married and probably not dating. It was all clean, no messes like what you'd find at a younger man's bachelor pad, which was nice. There were tools here and there along with the occasional odd car part. That was strange, but considering what the man did for a living it wasn't all that strange. He obviously took his work home often.

As long as he kept away from the garage Sam could keep incidents to a bare minimum. He returned to the guest room and sat on the edge of the bed. A heavy sigh left his lips as he rested his head against his hands.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** All of these guys below belong to Hasbro. I just like playing with their fates and will return them when done. Except Gregory, he's mine. He stays with me.

**Your Author:** We are beginning to get somewhere finally!

The pillow failed to drown out the sounds of Gregory's tools. Sam lifted up the corner of the pillow he'd tossed onto the alarm clock and promptly groaned. The tools were always an indication that it was time to get up, for the entire week he hadn't had to set the alarm clock once. Which was just as well. He kicked off the blankets and threw on some clothes, lazily tying on his shoes and grabbing his cell from the nightstand. The pillow did a fantastic job of deflecting whatever his hand discharged. Once again the alarm clock was saved from a horrible charred death.

He wandered into the kitchen and pulled two poptarts out of a box. He decided to eat them just as. The week thus far had been entirely uneventful, not that he was complaining. It was nice. Gregory was openly eccentric and obsessed over cars instead of lawns, but he let Sam have his space. The two men didn't converse much, aside from dinner and work, but it seemed to work out for them. They were guys; they didn't need to talk about how Mrs. Jenkins was cheating on Mr. Jenkins with the mailman. Sam poked his head into the garage, halfway through his second poptart already, surprised to see his Uncle's upper torso hidden by the corvette. Usually he was gathering his tools in preparation to head to the shop.

"Uncle Greg?" The man pushed himself out from under the car looking surprised to see Sam awake before realization dawned on his face.

"Good morning Sam. I'm sorry; I guess I forgot to tell you last night. I'm not opening the shop on time today. I need to finish up this beauty so Richards can pick her up by six." He patted the front end. "I will let you know when I'm headed down there." With that he disappeared beneath the corvette. Sam headed back inside, patting his pockets to ensure that he did grab it. He contemplated just going back to bed, but he was too awake for that. Instead he went back into the guest room and dug out a beat up cd player. It had scorch marks on its surface, but that wasn't due to age. Sam had been using it to practice. He was proud of himself for not having blown it up yet like he did the ones that preceded it. With his uncle in the garage, Sam wasn't going to chance practicing in his room. He didn't know if the energy could go through walls and wasn't willing to find out the hard way.

He walked through the house, trying to find somewhere suitable to practice. Finally he settled on going to the backyard. He hadn't seen his uncle go out there once since he came. The chances of him walking in on him there was much slimmer, or so he hoped. Sam closed the backdoor quietly even though his uncle was unlikely to hear because of the music blasting in the garage. When the man was absorbed nothing else penetrated his bubble, music or no. Like the front the backyard had no grass, but instead of rock it had dirt. There was a square of concrete that protruded from the house with a few chairs on it and a small table. To the far right of the yard sat a car, this really didn't surprise Sam, but the make-shift cover made the make and model difficult to discern. The rest of the yard was bare. Sam sat on one of the dusty chairs and took a few even breaths before beginning his usual ritual. Hold the object, think about only it and hope something happens.

-

Sam groaned as he stood and stretched. He could only keep it up for thirty minutes at a time at the most. Even that was pushing it; humans just weren't made to keep still for any length of time. There was also the case of boredom. Not to mention the bone eating curiosity about what type of car lay beneath the tarp. He should ask his uncle if he could take a look, but he didn't want to bother him when he was working. Besides, if he didn't want Sam near the car he'd have made the backyard off-limits or warned him…or something. He put the cd in the chair and headed towards the hidden car. He would just lift the tarp enough to see the model of the car, that's it. It's not like he was doing anything wrong.

He carefully lifted the front of the tarp away from the car, eyes widening in shock as he did so. He wasn't always able to pick out the exact model of a car that passed much less the year, but anyone with half a brain knew what was beneath the tarp with just that glance at the front. He uncovered the car halfway and stood back to admire the beauty. He couldn't tell what year it was, but he knew for a fact that he'd just uncovered a Lamborghini. The 'look and not touch' concept was thrown out of the window. At one point in their life all men dreamed of owning a Lamborghini. Hell, being able to touch one was a lifetime opportunity! Because it had been sitting back there for so long there was a fine layer of dust and dirt covering the car. His hand was resting lightly against the metal, a habit he'd picked up from being around Bumblebee, and was slightly surprised to find it warm. The weather was cold and despite being under a tarp, the car should be too. His uncle had probably started the engine recently.

Sam jerked his hand back as if he'd been burned. At first he'd merely thought static electricity had caused the shock, but his hand told a different story. What appeared to be bolts of blue lightning danced across his hand like little dancers. Every so often one would strike the uncovered hood of the car. Horrified, Sam stumbled back several steps. He pulled his hand against his chest and closed it into a fist effectively stopping the energy from escaping. The car didn't look like it had taken any damage, but Sam wasn't about to take any further risks. He pulled the cover back over and retreated indoors. Once inside he looked at his hand, which now was normal. It figured. He couldn't get anything to happen when he wanted to, but the moment he got near an _expensive_ piece of machinery, that didn't belong to him mind you, there were sparks everywhere. He grumbled and cursed beneath his breath.

-

Working at the auto shop wasn't as bad as he'd thought it might be. He'd only had two accidents, both of which he managed to cover up. Unfortunately there were days when things ran slow and when things ran slow it gave the opportunity to talk. It just so happened to be one such day.

"So Sam," Gregory started, hands buried in the front end of a car. Sam looked up from what he was doing before returning his attention to it. "Why'd you quit college?" Ah, a serious topic first.

"Wasn't for me." He merely shrugged, trying to appear casual about it. He could just about feel his uncle's hard gaze on him.

"Bull, it wasn't for a girl was it?"

"What?" What sort of guy did he take him for? His uncle must have misinterpreted his expression because the next thing out of his mouth floored Sam.

"Ah, a man then." Ron would never have said it that casually, much less at all. Sam tried, and failed, to get his voice box working. His face was turning a nice shade of pink from embarrassment, which made everything that much worse.

"No! No, I don't swing that way! I had a girlfriend!"

"That doesn't mean anything." His put up a hand in a placating manner. "Calm down Sam, I was just asking."

"That wasn't asking," Sam grumbled. Gregory chuckled, amused by his nephew's actions.

"I'm sorry. Do you have a more interesting reason?"

"Nope," he replied simply. "It just wasn't for me."

"You have no imagination; I'd have gone for 'I dropped out to join a samurai gang'." Sam merely shot him a look. "Alright then." Gregory leaned against a workbench and crossed his arms. "What's going on? There must be a reason you came up here and all I was given was 'issues'. Want to explain?"

"Not really." Sam knew his uncle's heart was in the right place, but there wasn't anything he could say about the situation. He shut the hood of the car he'd been working on and wiped his hands on a rag.

"What's going to need replacing?" Gregory pushed off from the workbench and came to stand by the car, ready to pop the hood again.

"Nothing."

"The owner will be happy to hear that." He took a quick look at Sam's handiwork and shut the hood pleased. "You have too much free time on your hands." He said suddenly in a tone that worried Sam. "You need something to take that up, keep you busy."

"Uh, really?" Sam didn't know where this was going and didn't know if he'd like it. Gregory nodded his head and crossed his arms.

"I'm going to give you a project that ought to take up a good chunk of that free time." Although he was trying to go for the 'serious' look, he couldn't stop a grin from spreading. "In the backyard I have a nineteen eighty-five Lamborghini Countach. I can't get her running worth anything, but I haven't had the heart to put her out. Maybe you ought to tinker around and see if you can work a miracle on her. God knows she needs it. I'd hate to see her go to the junk yard." He found a rag tossed at his head, draping over and into his line of vision nicely. He pulled it off only to find Sam giving him a look that mingled between 'you son of a bitch' and 'oh my god yes'. He laughed outright. "Sorry, I couldn't resist acting serious."

"You're a bastard."

"Thanks!" He looked thoughtful for a moment. "You think you could tell that to the ladies next door? I keep trying to tell them that, but they don't listen to me." Another rag was thrown at him even as he laughed.

-

Gregory had let Sam go early, there wasn't much to be done and he could see the eagerness in his eyes. He could handle closing up the shop himself. Sam emerged from the bathroom and made a straight line for the backyard after gathering a few tools from the garage. He moved the plastic table closer to the covered car and placed the tools on top before completely removing the tarp. He'd previously assumed the car to be in fairly good shape, but was proved wrong. It was obviously damaged with dents and scratches all along the body. One of the windows had been busted and the left rear door had a good sized dent bending it inward. He could tell his uncle had done some work on the body, but when it didn't start up despite his attempts he had to push it to the back of his 'to-do list'. Judging by what his uncle had said the damage was not just superficial.

Sam popped the hood to see what he was working with. He winced upon seeing the damage within. Gregory had done a fantastic job thus far, but he could see why he'd gotten frustrated. It looked as if it would never run again. The engine, top of the line by the looks of it, was in good condition. There had to be some unknown underlying cause that kept it from starting up. Something Gregory had missed. He had his work cut out for him that was certain. His free time would be taken up by the project, but if he could get it running it would all be worth it.

There was some sort of familiarity that was tugging at him, but it was quickly dismissed.

-

Gregory watched Sam from the kitchen window. The boy was uncertain about his direction in life and had issues that he refused to talk about, but obviously hindered him. The only thing he seemed certain about were cars. He rarely talked when working on one, but it was clear he was at peace when he did. He had a knack for working around the components and finding the problem. He couldn't explain nor do it with someone breathing down his neck. It was something that he had to not think about.

Strange things tended happen around the boy. He'd once found Sam using a tool that wasn't plugged in, yet it was working. He'd also found a screwdriver stuck to the ceiling in the shop. It was still there too, he hadn't figured out how to get it down. He hadn't even considered asking Sam about it until he purchased him a new screwdriver, no explanation given. There had been a few times Sam had yelped outright and when Gregory checked on him, he acted as innocent as a child who just broke his neighbor's window. There was no evidence of an accident; therefore Gregory was forced to let it go.

Despite everything, Sam was a fantastic worker. He worked as long as Gregory needed him to and didn't complain. If anything, he seemed to prefer keeping himself busy. At times it appeared as if Sam was trying to distance himself from people and that troubled him deeply. He was fine around his family, he bantered back and forth with Gregory often enough, but it was other people he shied away from. He let Sam tinker with the Lamborghini so that he wasn't pacing around and mumbling beneath his breath in his room. If fixing cars calmed him, then he'd give him the means to take his mind off of everything.

He'd agreed to let him stay for a while simply because he was Ron's son. Now he knew that it had been a good decision.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** All of these guys below belong to Hasbro. I just like playing with their fates and will return them when done. Except Gregory, he's mine. He stays with me.

**Your Author:** Sorry it took a little longer for this chapter, but I couldn't figure out how I wanted it to go. I wanted to wait on the scene near the end, but it seemed to fit there. Hm, does it seem to be moving fast? I'm trying to keep a smooth pace, but I'm not sure if I achieved that. Sunny isn't giving me much to work with, but at least Sam is cooperating.  
Heh, I didn't realize something until my little sister mentioned it. I named Sam's uncle Gregory merely because suddenly I wrote him saying 'Greg' and it stuck. In a roleplay I did with her a few months back Sam had an uncle by the name of Gregory House, brother to Judy Witwicky. XD This Greg is, by no means, at all like House. I just thought it was funny.

Also, I'd like to thank all of my reviewers for taking the time and letting me know what they thought. Thank you!  
Enough of my yapping, please enjoy the next chapter.

It was late, so very late. The warmth of his bed called like a siren, but once between the sheets all previous illusions were shattered like a mirror. He would toss and turn, throw the covers all over and nearly end up on the floor. The sliver of moon visible between the curtains was like a beam of light to his tired brain and would not allow his eyes to close for long. He couldn't sleep. Not that it was unusual; Sam was tiring of how often it occurred. He had theories as to why it happened, but he wasn't ready to face them yet and wasn't going to so late at night. Frustrated, he threw the covers onto the ground and pulled on his jeans. He only grabbed his cell phone out of habit before quietly heading to the backdoor. He froze momentarily when he heard his uncle's old mattress creak, but the sound quickly died out.

It was freezing out and he briefly cursed himself for forgetting a shirt of all things. He wasn't going to go back in and risk waking his uncle, however. Just because he couldn't sleep didn't mean his uncle had to suffer. He closed the backdoor and headed straight for the car he'd been working on. He hadn't bothered to put the cover back on earlier, which was just as well. The tarp wouldn't be rustling and making noise. He put a hand on the hood and just stood there for a moment, taking a good look at the damaged vehicle. It was a habit, he realized as he slipped into the front seat and closed the door. Whenever he had sleep problems he gravitated towards cars, namely Bumblebee. His guardian was very patient and understanding when it came to that. He would go down to the garage and the two of them would talk into the early hours of the morning or until Sam drifted off, comforted by his friend's soothing voice and presence.

Sam leaned back against the old seat and closed his eyes. The air around him was unnaturally warm, especially considering the temperature outside, but he found it soothing. There was no voice that would converse with him and no reassuring feeling that Bumblebee managed to emit. No sentience at all. Still, it was nice.

-

"Sam? Sam, wake up." He wasn't sure when he fell asleep, much less when his alarm clock began playing such odd sounds. His foggy mind briefly wondered when it had learned his name. It wasn't even supposed to play music; it just beeped in an annoying way. Once he gained full awareness he realized that it wasn't his alarm, rather it was his uncle. Gregory was obviously confused, and a little amused, at the fact he'd found Sam asleep in the car. He looked around himself in a dazed manner, causing the older man to chuckle and shake his head.

"Sorry Uncle Greg," Sam groaned as he got out of the car. His back was stiff from sleeping in an upright position.

"What in the blazes were you doing sleeping in the car?" He nudged his half-awake nephew towards the backdoor.

"Honestly? I don't remember." Gregory chuckled as Sam stumbled towards his room. He merely assumed Sam had decided to do some moonlit repairs. The boy had really dedicated his free time to working on that car; he'd even managed to pound out half of the dent in the passenger door. She still wouldn't start, not even a sputter, but she was looking lovely. Certain that Sam was aware; he headed into the kitchen in order to locate his camera. He'd taken pictures at Betty's little girl's fifth birthday, he promised he'd get the pictures uploaded and sent to her. There was only one problem, no camera. The counter was void of the bright purple colored device. He scratched his head, swearing that it had been the last place he had put it. He began to look around and on the floor before going to the living room. His search turned up nothing; it seemed to have just vanished.

"Sam?" He called out as he began to strip the couch of its cushions.

"Yeah?"

"Did you happen to see or move my camera?"

"No, not really." He didn't have a reason to touch nor move it. The last time he'd seen it had been at that birthday party and even then he'd used it once. It wasn't hard to miss so the fact that it was lost was a bit surprising. Then again, it was his uncle they were talking about. Sam pulled his shirt over his head and yawned. It was probably in a very clear, easy to see place. Gregory just had a habit of over-looking the obvious because his mind was always elsewhere. He heard Gregory mutter something about aliens and snickered. "Did you leave it in your car?" He suggested.

"No, of course not!" The words were purely automatic to any human being and even as they were spoken, Sam heard the front door open.

-

"Maybe the house ate it." Sam finally suggested as he leaned against the couch.

"It wouldn't be the first time," Gregory muttered in defeat. He handed Sam a soda, popping open his own and sat on the couch. He and Sam had scoured the entire house, practically flipping it upside down, and still had not managed to locate the camera. "I'm going to head to the shop to pick up the paperwork. I'll look and see if I didn't leave it there by accident." He thumped Sam's shoulder before heading out the door. Sam carefully watched him leave; making certain he was in his car and down the road, and then darted to his room in order to retrieve his cd player.

He'd been caught up in working on the car over the past days and had not bothered to 'experiment' with his energy. He didn't remember it being in such poor condition, but it was far from surprising. The device was undoubtedly on its final leg. He turned it over in his hands, a frustrated expression on his face. All this energy ever seemed to do was destroy. He wondered why he even bothered with it anymore. He didn't notice that his body was tensing and his grip on the device had tightened. He wasn't getting anywhere in trying to harness the strange energy, if anything it did all the controlling.

There was a small bang as the device exploded in his hands. Parts went flying and his hands were left burnt and bloody, pieces of plastic sticking out of his skin. He'd been knocked backward from the force of the explosion and found himself against the far wall. There were a few bloody lines on his face and neck, but all in all it was nothing life threatening. The device had been reduced to nothing. Sam just sat there for several long moments, managing to squash down the frustration and rage that boiled within him.

He managed to pull himself off the floor and locate the first aid kit. He then proceeded to lock himself in the bathroom, he didn't want to explain how the plastic bits got into his skin, and began the tedious task of picking out the pieces and bandaging himself up. He heard his uncle return, sounding rather flustered as he called out Sam's name. Apparently a neighbor had heard the bang and had told his uncle the moment his car had arrived in the driveway. Sam gave a quick, what he hoped was believable, explanation.

Gregory stood outside of the bathroom door with a skeptical look etched onto his face. Sam was no expert at lying. His voice shook and he stuttered when he tried, but there had to be a reason behind it. He stared intently at the door for several minutes, briefly wondering if Sam was even _breathing_ considering how still everything was, before sighing. Ron had warned him Sam would be very secretive from time to time and to give him space when he was. Sam was an adult; he could take care of himself. Gregory only hoped he didn't get himself killed in the process.

-

Sam, in a rare fit of anger, threw the newest cd player onto the ground. Predictably it shattered; hitting the cement had been the final amount of stress the poor thing could take. It was taking less and less time to utterly destroy each device; the latest cd player had only lasted two days. He wasn't getting anywhere with this. If anything it was all getting worse. That very morning he had woken up covered in cotton and electronic pieces. Usually he had to be awake for anything like that to act up, but now he was destroying alarm clocks in his sleep. He kicked a rock, it made a small sound as it connected with the brick wall that outlined the backyard. He knew he shouldn't be making so much noise, especially this late at night. Gregory hadn't come out looking for the source of the racket, therefore he must not have heard.

As the days passed, Sam found that the frustration had nestled within his chest and refused to leave. It was just beneath the surface, not enough to affect his mood and yet it was not ignorable. Gregory seemed to know that something was building up, he just wasn't certain of what, but he did know something had to give. He just didn't want to be around when it did.

Sam released a strained breath. He tried to calm himself, something he'd been attempting to do for the past half hour. His hands were sparking like broken wires and nothing he did would make it go away. His hands were still badly injured after his last accident and it was only aggravating the wounds further, thus adding pain to his irritation and restlessness. That being the reason he was outside at two in the morning. He didn't feel like himself, he felt as if he were being consumed by the damn energy. It crawled across and beneath his skin, digging into his bones. It's as if it wanted all of him flesh, bone and mind. He then did something that, had he been in his right state of mind, he never would have done. The tarp was ripped away and tossed aside, revealing the Lamborghini completely to the dim moonlight. Sam placed his bare hands flat against the hood. The energy dug into the metal, covering the entire vehicle with blue bolts jumping this way and that. Sam closed his eyes and clenched his teeth; the feeling was intense and wholly consuming. A quiet sound was torn from his throat.

The energy finally died out, but it took Sam a while longer to regain full awareness. He was pleasantly light headed and feeling better than he had in a few weeks. His breathing was ragged and he couldn't muster the energy to support himself. He ended up sitting in the dirt as his brain sluggishly struggled to catch up and make sense of the recent event. Dread settled in the pit of his stomach when the correct wires connected. He stood up, albeit shakily, and gave the car the once over. It wasn't anymore damaged than it had been, but it was cleaner. The dust and dirt was gone from its sleek exterior, but that was the only physical indication something had happened.

"Thank god," he breathed in relief. He slipped the cover back over, sort of, and stumbled inside. Whatever he had done had drained him of all energy, he could barely even walk straight. He only managed to make it to the couch before falling into a deep slumber. He didn't even notice the car headlights flash on before flicking back off again.

-

A shock ran through his systems, touching every wire and cog it could. It struck his processor the hardest, acting as a defibrillator reviving a human heart and giving three strong shocks. The numb darkness he had drifted in for so long slowly ebbed away. He felt the weight of reality return to him along with complete thought, not the sluggish mess his mind had been. It was painful, but it meant that he truly was among the functioning. He couldn't move, couldn't so much as twitch and was unable to see. He wasn't bound, as far as he could tell, but he was damaged. He couldn't bring up the diagnostics in order to calculate the damage, everything was offline. He didn't know where he was much less if he'd been found. The fact that he was aware was a miracle in itself.

His situation was frustrating beyond comprehension. He tried to activate his transformation, but was rewarded with the sound of grinding gears and pain. He was stuck in a terrible position, injured and venerable. Quite often it was his opponent that was left in such a manner and he was able to bask in the victory. Now he was forced to wait and hope his self repair kicked in. Oh how the tables had viciously turned.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author:** I know it has been a while since my last update. I was struggling with my writing for a while and then fell out of the fandom for a time. But I found my way back over here and realized just how well recieved this fanfiction had been. It was far better than I expected! So I decided to brush the dust off and not abandon this work. As a writer, it bothers me to leave works unfinished. So for those who have been following this fic, thank you so much! Here is a new chapter.

* * *

"I'm walking on sunshine, oh whoa, and don't it feel good!" Gregory Witwicky was several notes off key, but either didn't notice or care. Sam groaned and rolled over, grasping for a pillow to cover his head with. When he found none, he buried his head further into the cushions. Hopefully the torture would soon end. "What are you doing on the couch?" Gregory asked as he spotted his nephew unsuccessfully trying to block out his singing. "Didn't you go to bed?"

"Yeah," Sam's voice was muffled. "Couldn't sleep, came out here."

"Well get your behind moving Sam!" He thumped Sam's shoulder. "Soon as I finish my coffee, we're heading to the shop."

Sam peeled himself off of the couch and to the guest room to get dressed. He felt tired, bone deep exhaustion that he was only familiar with after running for his life. When he glanced at his reflection in the mirror he was greeted with shadowed, bloodshot eyes. He looked like he hadn't slept in weeks. Splashing water on his face, and slapping his cheeks a few times, he deemed himself as ready as possible.

After breakfast, Sam and Gregory went to open the shop. Usually Sam was thankful for the busy work, but he found himself increasingly distracted. He wondered what damage he'd done to the inside of the Lamborghini and if it would ever run again. It would be such a shame if he'd ruined it before he ever got to hear the engine run. Not to mention he'd owe his uncle big time.

"Say, Uncle Greg," Sam asked during a lunch break. "What is that thing in your yard?"

"What thing?" Greg cocked an eyebrow.

"The, uh, the metal thing on the rock. For scaring crows? Visitors? Family?"

Greg laughed. "Oh, that thing! It's a car part that just wouldn't work. So I gave it what for and put it there as an example to all the other car parts. That's what happens when you mess with Gregory Witwicky!" A strange look had crossed his face, bordering on manic.

Sam swallowed his food hard, awkwardly shifting a little away suddenly feeling uncomfortable. His entire family was weird. Point blank.

The next few weeks were spent in a fuzzy lull. Sam would wake up, go to the garage and work, come home and work on the Lamborghini. He didn't think about Decepticons or NEST or Autobots at all. Okay, he thought about Bumblebee, but that was it. Anything else pertaining to aliens and their technology was purged from his mind.

Currently he was cleaning the Lamborghini inside and out, inspecting each piece as he pulled it out and fixing what he could. The deeper he went, however, the stranger things began to look. He wanted to compare it to Bumblebee's engine, but his mind rebelled and he quickly shoved the thought from mind. Great, he thought miserably, I'm seeing them everywhere.

It wasn't that he regretted knowing them or wanted them out of his life. But they had changed his and him, quite possibly beyond recognition. That is what scared him the most. Sam sighed and wiped his hands on the rag. He turned around to get something out of the toolbox. Behind him, Sam heard the hood slam shut. Sam jumped around, startled. No one was there. Shaking his head, he went to pop the hood again. It didn't budge. Frustrated, he pulled the knob harder, but still the hood stayed latched shut.

The door swung down across his back, sending Sam sprawling across the seats and in the floor well. Curses spewed out of his mouth in a string as his back screamed at the abuse. Sam scrambled out of the car, falling onto the dirt on his butt. The car was still and silent.

"Oh no, oh no no no no." Sam babbled. "You!" He pointed a finger at the unassuming Lamborghini. "Stop it!" He didn't know who he thought he was talking to. The door could have been loose and the hood stuck. "Okay, okay," Sam got up and brushed his pants off. "You've got it handled." Keeping one hand on the bottom of the door, Sam went to pop the hood again. This time it complied. Smiling to himself, Sam swung the door down and continued his work on the engine.

When his hands ghosted over the parts, the frame of the entire car shuddered. Sam pulled his hands back, confusedly. Autobot parts were sensitive and Bumblebee would often react like that when Sam gave him a nice deep clean. But this wasn't an Autobot. Right?

"I'm not going to hurt you," Sam found himself saying anyway. "I'm just fixing you up. You were one heck of a mess." The car shuddered again when he touched the engine, but it didn't do anything else, so Sam continued his work. As he did so, he talked. He missed his talks with Bumblebee and though the Autobot was just a phone call away, Sam had kept with his decision to keep his distance. "See, no harm done."

...

How he loathed sitting there, unable to move or speak or do anything. His life, he soon realized, was in the hands of a –a fleshling. The mere thought was repulsive. Since he had first on-lined, he'd spent much time falling in and out of consciousness, but he couldn't stand the fact that a fleshling was putting its fingers in every crevice it could get into. If he could, he would have let the creature know that touching him was not acceptable.

But along with the revulsion, there was something else. The creature brought with it a warm, electrified feeling that he craved to pull from its fingers. It was energy, pure energy that danced teasingly out of his reach. Why wouldn't the creature just shock his systems with the much desired reboot? Perhaps it could kick start his repair systems. But no, he was reduced to small amounts that found its way into his body through the curious fingers.

Then he felt his frame shudder as sensitive parts were touched, stroked and cleaned. He could move! At last! The small acts of defiance were all he was capable of, moving the hood and door, before he wore out. It frustrated him to no end. So close and yet so far. Soon he would be able to communicate with the creature and the sooner he could, the sooner he could be fixed and the sooner he could leave.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author:** Getting back into the swing. I remember a bit about what I wanted to do for the fic, surprisingly, but other things I'm still developing. Thank you everyone for your continued support!

* * *

It was dark and cold and he was alone. There was no light and so he endlessly walked, finding no end. Then, in the distance, a red light flickered into existence.

_Witwicky_

A venomous voice growled from behind, making him cold with fear. He started to run, hoping to outrun the voice that haunted him. A cold metal wall sprouted up in front of him, preventing his escape. He turned left and ran again, the red light coming ever closer bringing the growling voice with it calling his name. He found another wall. Turning again he ran, but ran smack into another wall. His heart pounded like a drum and when he tried to call for help (Bumblebee! Please! I need help!) nothing came out of his throat. He was silenced.

The walls around him began closing in. Sam pushed back against one futilely, wordlessly chanting (Please God, oh please God don't let me die). The red light split into two and rose above him, glaring down at his futile attempts to escape. The floor quaked and he was thrown on his ass. He could feel the ground moving upwards, closer to the lights.

_No no no,_ he mentally screamed. Then the darkness turned into gunmetal gray and glinting steel. He realized then that he was not in a room, but clutched in Megatron's very hand and the lights were his hateful eyes.

_You can't run from me, boy._

_..._

The silence of the night was broken by Sam's wild screaming. There was a commotion as Gregory tripped over his own slippers and banged into his door in order to get to his distressed nephew. He held down the thrashing teen and shook him, saying his name firmly in order to wake him up. Sam was covered in sweat and pale as ever. Even when he opened his eyes it took him a minute more to regain his senses as he pushed against Gregory and tried to cower into the corner of his bed and the wall.

Sam sat there a minute, rocking himself and muttering nonsense. Gregory was struck with the sudden hope that Sam wasn't starting down the path Archibald himself fell down; it would break his heart to see. Sam finally collected himself enough to look up at his uncle with some sense in his mind.

"Sam, are you okay?"

"Yeah," Sam stuttered. "Yeah, fine. Just a- a nightmare. A bad dream."

Gregory sat down at the edge of the bed and put a comforting hand on Sam's shoulder, though the teen recoiled at the initial touch. "You want to talk about it?"

Sam shook his head almost violently. "No- no I'm okay. I'm fine. Really," Sam tried to assure his uncle with a shaky smile, but Gregory was not convinced. "I just need some sleep. I'll be better in the morning."

"Sam," Gregory said firmly, "Something has been bothering you since you first showed up on my doorstep. I thought giving you space would help, but you don't seem to be any closer to figuring out whatever it was that brought you up here. It doesn't have to be me, but do you have anyone you can talk to? A friend?"

Sam guiltily thought of Bumblebee and the other Autobots, but he'd been keeping them in the dark. He should go to them, but at the same time- Sam shook his head. "It's just something I got to figure out myself." If he could.

Gregory stared at him doubtfully, "Sam, this is affecting you. I know you've had nightmares before." He knocked on one of the walls with his knuckles. "Thin walls."

"I don't want to talk about it!" Sam insisted heatedly, his temper beginning to rise. "You can't- no one can-" He groaned in frustration.

"You need to open up. No one can help you if you don't." Gregory insisted.

"No one can." Sam said flatly. "I need some air." He then announced in a less heated tone. He then crawled off the bed and made a bee-line for the backyard, leaving his uncle to sit in the room wondering what was going on.

Sam headed straight for the Lamborghini. Right about now he would be nestled in Bumblebee's back seat and Bumblebee would be playing something soothing on the radio to help lull Sam back to sleep. But considering he'd told his guardian he'd needed some time away, this would have to do.

Sam crawled into the passenger side and closed the door. He leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes, already feeling better. The seat was unnaturally warm for a car sitting out in winter, but he brushed it off. He felt like a child who went to sleep with their parents after a nightmare and he knew it was probably a bad habit he was picking up. Bumblebee might not be around forever and it would be odd to be sixty-something and still crawling into his guardian to sleep after a nightmare. But he couldn't bring himself to care much as he settled into a more comfortable position. Everything seemed to enclose around him, but more like a cocoon, nothing like Megatron's cold claws.

He could have sworn he felt the car settle back on its shocks further, but that could just have been his mistake.

_..._

Sunstreaker didn't know what to think about becoming the human's new bed. At least once a week the human would wake in the middle of the night and crawl into him, only then finally finding solace and sleep. Because of his limited time with humans, he wasn't sure if this was a common practice.

The first time he was aware of it happening, Sunstreaker had not been happy about it at all. Humans secreted oils and shed their skin, it wasn't something he wanted in his seat, but unable to communicate he was forced to deal with it. Lately, however, he found himself only a little annoyed. It wasn't like he didn't enjoy having another living creature nearby when he spent all day back there alone. It made him miss his brother, Sideswipe. He used to fuss about scarcely having a moment to himself and now he found himself mourning the loss. The human would have to do…for now.

When the human crawled into his passenger seat that night, Sunstreaker noticed something wrong. The screaming of before was a large indicator, but the way he curled up on himself and how his body was rigid was alluding to a bigger problem. But he didn't seek out the comfort of other humans. Instead he came straight to Sunstreaker.

_Humans have the oddest habits,_ Sunstreaker mused. Still, he sympathized. Most sentient life was capable of nightmares and his own were nothing to underestimate. When he felt the human press against him, trying to fit himself in the crevice between the seat and the door, he settled back on his shocks in a relaxed manner. The human, surprisingly, responded by calming a little himself.

_..._

_.._

_._

Ladiesman217. Designation: Samuel Witwicky. Mission: Locate. Note: Do not engage with target, target is known to have protection. Send information regarding Witwicky directly to Lord Megatron. Mission: fa-fail-…..

Reboot. Systems online. System Diagnosis: Repair Required. Self-Repair: Started. Estimation: Thirty-one days, twelve hours, five minutes, sixty seconds.

Mission: Accepted.


End file.
